I am seventeen,

and I have never met one as young as me

to suffer from PTSD.

All I want is attention.

I just cause tension.

I'm faking it.

Exaggerating it.

Sometimes your words send me into panic

and you just tag me as an attention maniac.

Because I'm young,

and so my pain isolates me as the only one

who knows myself.

I hide my emotions on a shelf.

I will sink into death as if I were pelagic,

and you will say,"Oh how tragic,"

as if every day you didn't hurl your barbs my way.

Because no one cares until you're dead.